


I'm Beginning to See the Light

by mynameisnoneya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Police, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: Sandor Clegane is a lonely, gruff police detective who hates just about anything that has to do with Christmas.  Stuck working the Christmas Eve shift again this year, a redheaded stranger he meets at his favorite diner helps him remember that Christmas is more than ugly sweaters and tacky lights.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a fluffy Christmas one-shot about Sandor simply because I love the instant chemistry motif between Sandor and Sansa. The characters have taken a life of their own for me, so a few extra chapters will be added to round out the story.
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is waiting for his partner to show to begin their shift on Christmas Eve when a beautiful redheaded stranger walks in and rocks his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instant chemistry at it's best, folks!

I never made love by lantern-shine,

I never saw rainbows in my wine.

But now that your lips are burning mine

I'm beginning to see the light.

                    - Ella Fitzgerald

 

As the snow began to fall outside of Ray’s Diner, Sandor sat inside on his normal seat at the counter, basking in the warmth before heading out on duty, grumbling to himself that yet again this year he was working the Christmas Eve shift.  Every fucking year, his captain automatically assumed that he wouldn’t mind serving the citizens of Westeros once again on this fine occasion, probably because he’d taken the damn shift for the last decade without complaining.  This was the night that most folks were snuggled in with family and friends, singing yule tide carols, or doing whatever other cheesy shit normal people do this time of year.

In fact, there wasn’t a whole lot about the Christmas season that Sandor enjoyed.  He hated the way people at the station suddenly pretended to care about each other when the rest of the year they acted like complete fucks to one another.  He was sick of people buying all sorts of tacky shit made overseas that will break in a day.

He despised the sickening-sweet songs blasting everywhere a man went, paying homage to a fat old guy in furry red suit.  Little old ladies wearing grotesque sweaters that flashed and played music. Mothers fighting each other in the store to get their hands on the last one of the hottest new toy in stock for their unappreciative brat.  Dads being kicked outside in the freezing cold to hang bunches of tangled, gnarled strings of lights nobody bothered to pack correctly at the end of the season last year.

God, how Sandor hated the lights.  Lights were his absolute least favorite of them all.

People filling their yards with tacky light-up reindeer families.  Gigantic glow-in-the-dark inflatables of motorcycle-driving Santas that were even taller than his 6’8’ frame.  Driveways turned into runways thanks to the countless rows of light-up candy canes tracing the outline.  Lights on cars.  Lights on buildings.  Here a light, there a light, everywhere a light.  _Lights_. 

Yeah, his captain knew that Sandor didn’t have anything better to do, really.  No family waiting for him at home.  Parents dead.  Brother estranged.  No, not even a pet to come home to when off duty.

Actually, it really was a pretty sweet shift to work, which is why Sandor didn’t bother to bitch when he was saddled with it yet again.  Time and half plus little-to-no shit to deal with around the city on this particular night of the year wasn’t that bad in the scheme of things.  With most normal folks at home, gearing up to celebrate the orgy of consumerism that would occur tomorrow morning, not much usually went down on Christmas Eve around Westeros.

Well, there was that one year that he and Bronn pulled over that college-age couple for doing 90 down River Road.  Turned out the little lady was giving her boyfriend head while he was driving them to his parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner.  Man, did he and Bronn have some fun making that little rich boy sweat before they let them go with a warning.

Anyway, tonight would probably not be nearly as eventful since most shifts on this particular occasion were normally quite dull.

“One more for the road?” Ray, the owner of the diner asked, interrupting Sandor’s thoughts about his upcoming boredom this evening.

“Sure, one more,” Sandor asked, pushing his coffee mug toward Ray for a refill.

“Where’s your buddy tonight?” Ray asked with a smirk, pouring another round of the hot, black liquid into Sandor’s mug.

He couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Going to be a bit late for duty tonight.  Seems that he may have overslept.  Again.”

“Did you buy him an alarm clock for Christmas like I suggested?” Ray laughed as he turned to put the coffee pot back on the burner.

“Yup.  Sure did,” Sandor grinned, “Wrapped and in the trunk.”

“That’s my boy!” laughed Ray, excusing himself with a nod as he returned to the kitchen.

As Sandor sipped his coffee, checking his watch to see just how late Bronn would be this time, he heard the bell above the entrance to the diner chime.  He turned slightly, assuming it was partner, preparing to lob a snarky comment his way.

_Well, fuck me…_

Instead of seeing Bronn’s ugly puss, Sandor’s eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. 

The young woman appeared to be in her early to mid-20s.  She was tall, above-average in height.  Slender, yet curvy.  Miles of wavy, copper hair fell down her back, crystal blue eyes scanning the empty diner, a light dusting of freckles barely visible on her pale skin.  The young lady was impeccably dressed, most likely designer label, wearing a charcoal gray knee-length trench coat with black leather heels so tall that Sandor wondered how she could even walk in the damn things.  And those legs…

“Excuse me, sir, is this seat taken?”

_Huh?  Wait, is she really asking me if anyone is sitting next to me?  The place is empty, for fuck’s sake?_

“No, it’s not,” Sandor muttered, as the gorgeous young woman who was standing right next to him motioned to the empty stool.

“Good,” she huffed, yanking off her coat and sitting herself down on the stool beside him.  The skin-tight, long-sleeve red velvet dress that she was wearing rode up slightly as she sat down, her hands attempting to pull her skirt down to a decent length but failing miserably.

Turning his attention back to his half-consumed second cup of coffee, Sandor wondered why on earth she chose to sit by him.  He wasn’t the type of guy who attracted the attention of the ladies, what with his grumpy disposition and all of his scars.  This little lady may not know about the bad attitude, but she could sure as hell see the scars.

“So, what’s good to eat here?” she chirped, smiling broadly at him, tapping her long, blood-red nails on the counter. 

_Where the fuck is Ray?_

“Uh, that depends on what you’re in the mood for,” Sandor spoke, checking his watch, wondering when in the hell Bronn was going to show up.

The beautiful red-head snorted at his comment.  Snorted.  Like what he had said was somehow funny.  “You don’t want to know what I’m in the mood for!” she uttered, her head bobbing around like some damn doll on a dashboard.

Not sure whether he wanted to take the bait or not, Sandor cleared his throat, figuring he’d take a nibble.

“Bad day at the office?” he tried to joke, hoping it actually sounded like one for a change.

“Nope.”

“Family troubles?”

“I wish!” she chuckled, the fakeness in her tone becoming more obvious with each passing second.

_Right, then. I’m out._

Preparing to excuse himself and to escape into the solace of his unmarked squad car where he could hide until Bronn magically appeared, Sandor was about to leave some cash on the counter and bolt when Ray came to his rescue.

“Evening miss.  Can I get you something to drink while you look?” Ray asked, handing the young woman a menu, leaning slightly on the counter, looking directly at the lady but definitely shooting Sandor a look without looking at him.

_The fuck is that about?_

“Coffee, please,” she smiled, “And if it’s not too much trouble, a piece of that lemon pie sitting over there.”

“Ah, excellent choice!” Ray beamed, now pouring her a cup, “Make every one of those from scratch myself.  You’ll love it!”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!  I am certain that I will!” she grinned, taking her mug in both hands, blowing cool air onto the steaming hot liquid.

Sandor was trying not to stare, but damn if he didn’t find the way her mouth moved a little bit…sexy.

“So, what’s a beautiful young lady like yourself doing all alone here in my diner on Christmas Eve?” Ray asked, placing a rather large slice of lemon pie in front of the tall red-head.  After asking the question, he looked directly at Sandor, virtually willing him to take over the conversation. 

“Ugh, you don’t even want to know,” the young woman laughed brightly, the action not quite in sync with the sadness hidden in her eyes.

Sandor could feel Ray’s eyes burning a hole in his head.  He knew Ray wanted him to talk to her.  Wanted him to find someone.  Wanted him to quit spending every waking hour interrogating perps, dealing with crime scenes, or investigating some sort of domestic bullshit.  Did Ray really think that talking to this pretty, posh little bird who was pretending to be mysterious would somehow bring him eternal happiness?

“For someone who doesn’t want to talk about shit,” Sandor growled under his breath, turning slightly in his stool to face the young woman, calling her out on her load of crap, “You sure are eager to make sure you’re noticed.”

“Excuse me?” she huffed, setting her coffee mug down, her head whipping around to meet his stare with an icy look of annoyance, “You don’t know anything about me!”

“Is that so?” Sandor continued, a sneer forming across his face, ignoring the pleading look on Ray’s face, “You march in here, not a soul around save me, mind you, and plop yourself right down beside me.”  He could see her facade start to falter, her lip just beginning to quiver at the corner, “Then you start talking to me, a total stranger, maybe even some ax murderer for all you know, and act like we’re best friends.”  He stood to leave, tossing a $20 on the counter for Ray, not really as a tip but as a tacit apology for starting shit in his diner on Christmas Eve.  “I’d say you’re definitely wanting to tell someone something, but you just want to make them jump through your damn little hoops for sport first.”

Turning on his heels, Sandor stomped toward the door to leave, quite certain that Ray would kill him right now if he could get a hold of him.  Instead of leaving, however, his motion was stifled when he heard the young woman begin to cry.

“Yeah, I’m a real bitch, I know,” she sniffed, “You’re absolutely right.  I should’ve just said, “Hi, I’m Sansa Stark.  I’m a spoiled little rich girl with an even wealthier ass-hole boyfriend who just cheated on her again.’  That would’ve been a much better opener for sure.”

Sandor turned around to see the angry look on Ray’s face he had been expecting, but the young woman wasn’t looking at him at all.  Her arms were folded on the counter, her head laying on them, heavy sobs beginning to pour out of her thin frame.

“Fix this, Clegane,” Ray warned, wagging his finger at Sandor, “You may carry a gun, young man, but the gods save you if I get a hold of you.”

_Well, that’s just great.  Ten minutes till my shift starts, my partner is still not here, and I just made the pretty little bird cry.  And Ray wants my head on a spike.  Merry Fucking Christmas._

Sandor sighed, resigning himself to his fate.  Walking back to his stool, he sat down beside the beautiful woman, his legs facing the aisle, his back to the counter. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, ripping the proverbial bandage right off without further ado, “I spoke harshly to you.  You didn’t deserve that.”  He swirled his seat side-to-side nervously, still not quite sure what to do to fix "this," as Ray had demanded.

“Actually, you were so right,” she mumbled, her head still resting on her arms, “I did want you to jump through my hoops.  I wanted you to beg me to tell you what was wrong.  At least that way I could feel like I had _some_ sort of control for a change.”

Sandor reached up to rub his chin, scratching lightly at his dark beard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m betting it has something to do with the little fuck who cheated on you, yeah?”

As he spoke, she lifted her head, reaching for a napkin in the dispenser, dabbing at her eyes in a futile attempt to remove the black streaks forming around the corners where her make-up had smeared.  “Yeah, it does.”

Not knowing this lady one bit, he quickly assessed the situation using his years of crime solving skills, piecing together her story with what little information he had to go on.

“Let me take a guess,” Sandor began, narrowing his eyes as he studied her, “You’ve been dating this rich prick for…a year, maybe two.  Met the fucker in college most likely.  He was in your sorority’s brother frat.  He’s been promising you a ring forever, yet judging by the lack of one on your finger, I’d say you were hoping it was coming tonight or tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened comically as he continued.

“So, the boyfriend is a complete ass, treats you like shit, doesn’t call when he says he will, and prefers to hang out with his buddies more than you,”  Sandor continued, knowing full-well that he was on a roll, judging by how far her mouth had suddenly dropped while he was speaking, “Yet, you continue to date the little fucker - and for some reason I’m going with little, don’t know why, just got a gut feeling here - hoping he’ll magically change.  How am I doing so far?”

“It’s…scary,” she whispered.

“Want to hear the rest?”

“Absolutely.”

Sandor took a deep breath before firing his next salvo, “Well, time passes, you see, and he doesn’t change. You get frustrated, you call him out on it, he gets all mushy for a while, promises you the ring, you take the bait, and on and on the cycle goes.  Oh, and he sleeps with your friends, somehow manages to make it your fault, and of course you forgive him.”  He grabbed the coffee mug he had left on the counter, gulping down the last few sips he had previously rejected, sitting the cup firmly down in its former spot.

“Wow,” she said, her head shaking in amazement, “Just…wow.  It’s like you have my apartment bugged or something.”

“Not without a court order,” he smiled.

Surprisingly, she smiled in return.  “Can we start over?”

Sandor’s one good eyebrow raised in question, “Start over?”

“Hi, I’m Sansa Stark,” she grinned, sticking out her delicate, well-manicured hand.

He took her hand, grasping it firmly yet gently, “Sandor Clegane.  Nice to meet you, Sansa.”  As he shook her hand, he could see her scanning his face, examining the damaged side in what she probably thought was an inconspicuous manner.

“So, what are _you_ doing in here on Christmas Eve, Mr. Clegane?” she asked as they both turned in their stools, this time facing each other.  Leaning on one elbow on the counter, she took her fork, stabbing her pie, and ate a bite.

Sandor couldn’t help but stare a little too long at the way she visibly enjoyed Ray’s pie.  _How is it even possible for someone to chew in a sexy way?_

“I’m, uh…I’m waiting for my partner to show up,” he answered, blinking rapidly to right his thoughts, “He’s meeting me here in a few minutes.”

“Your partner?” Sansa asked, one perfectly groomed auburn eyebrow raising in question as she appeared to be trying to wrap her brain around something that he had just said.

Suddenly, it dawned on him what she thought he had meant by the term “partner.”

“Not _that_ kind of partner,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, “He’s my _partner_.  We’re detectives.”  He quickly realized that she was giggling at him.  Now he knew that he’d stepped right into her trap.  “Oh, but you figured that out already, hadn’t you?” he smiled, watching her cover her mouth as she burst out laughing at the fact that she had gotten him.

“Yeah, I figured you must be a cop by the way you whipped up that profile of me so fast,” she grinned widely, taking a sip of coffee, “Or a shrink.  But your demeanor screams ‘cop’ way more than the other.”

Just then Sandor’s cell phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

“Excuse me, but I need to see who this is.”

“Of course!” Sansa replied, her smile lighting up her whole face.

Sandor saw it was Bronn.

_Bronn:  Gonna meet you in 10 or less.  Owe you one._

Sandor looked up to see the gorgeous young woman looking at him as if she were waiting to continue their conversation.

_Sandor:  Take your time.  No rush._

Within seconds, his phone buzzed.

_Bronn:  Could you put Sandor on the phone, please, whomever the fuck this is?_

_Sandor:  Real funny._

“Do you have to go?” Sansa asked tentatively, her head slightly lowered.

For the first time since he couldn’t remember, he actually wished he didn’t.

“Yeah, I’m on duty in…8 minutes,” he said, checking his watch.

Her nose wrinkled at the thought, “You have to work on Christmas Eve?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”  _Since when did you ever care?_

“Well, for what it’s worth, I wish you could stay a little longer.”  Sansa’s eyes lowered to her lap, then darted back up to meet his.  His steel gray eyes held her gaze, not knowing why, but unable to look away from her.

“Me too,” Sandor rasped, unsure why in the seven hells he had decided to say that just then.

The two of them sat in an awkward silence, neither speaking yet continuing to stare at each other like they were trying to find an answer to a question no one dared to ask.

Sandor’s phone buzzed again, waking him from his trance.

_Bronn:  Pulling into Ray’s.  Meet you out here.  Too damn cold to get out._

“Well, I have to run,” Sandor smiled, standing to exit, wishing that he could think of any excuse to bail on his shift tonight.  He was coming up dry.

“OK, well, be safe,” Sansa chirped, her red lips parting into a toothy grin, “And have a merry Christmas, Detective Clegane.”

“Same to you, Miss Stark,” he grinned as he put his hand on the door handle.

As he was about to leave, Sansa called out for him to wait.  Turning around to heed her call, he watched her sauntering toward him, hips swaying slightly, looking ever so like the siren sent to bring him to his delicious demise. His heart was racing in his enormous chest, his brain buzzing as it tried to process what was happening right now.

“Look,” she grinned, the look of devilment running amok on her dainty features, pointing above his head.

When Sandor looked up, following the path her finger was making, he saw in the few inches of space between his head and the doorframe a tiny tuft of greenery dangling precariously.

“It’s mistletoe,” she said, her voice suddenly low and lilting, now standing directly in front of him, her eyes cast straight up to look into his face, thanks to his enormous size, “And I don’t have to tell you what that’s for, do I, _detective_?”

Sandor felt like someone had whacked him in the gut with a baseball bat.  _Bugger me, she can’t be serious?_  He’d been a total dick to her just minutes ago, they barely had gotten past initial introductions, and now she wanted to…kiss him?

“No, you don’t,” he replied, giving himself an internal “fuck it,” diving in with both feet, lowering his mouth to hers.  The sweetness of the whipped cream and the tartness of the lemon were both present on her lips when he kissed her.

When they finally broke apart, Sandor realized that his hands were holding her waist, her arms were around his neck, and they were standing so close it would be impossible to slip a quarter between the two of them.

“I’m in town for a week,” she said breathlessly, her hands moving down his shoulders to grasp his upper arms, “Any chance I could see you again, detective?”

The moment seemed so surreal, he couldn’t help but laugh a little.  “I’d say yes, there is definitely a chance of that.”

Sansa pulled away slowly, walking back to the counter, pulling a cell phone out of her purse.  “Give me your phone,” she grinned, handing him hers, “We can exchange numbers.”

After phone numbers were swapped, Sandor bid Sansa good-bye in a slightly more formal manner, although she did give him a quick kiss on his good cheek.  Walking into the frigid night air, he yanked open the door of the unmarked car in which Bronn was already sitting.

“Out with you, Flynn,” Sandor barked, “You drive tonight.”

“Have you gone bloody daft?” Bronn chuckled, getting out of the car, jogging around the front to the driver’s seat, catching the keys that Sandor had tossed at him, “First you don’t care about me being late again?  Then you want me to drive?”

“Shut it,” Sandor smiled, his hand rising to his face, his fingers gently brushing against his cheek where Sansa's lips had been just moments ago.

"Oh, now I know something’s amiss,” Bronn laughed, backing the car out of its space, "Been sneaking the eggnog already this evening, eh?"

“Just beginning to see the light, that’s all,” Sandor replied, watching the fluffy white snowflakes land on the windshield.

“The light?” Bronn scoffed, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Sandor ran his tongue along his bottom lip, wondering if what had happened between Sansa and himself had been a dream.  “Nothing.  Nothing at all,” he grinned, “Just focus on the road, will you?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, sing it with me now, "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa waits at Ray's Diner for someone to come take her back home to Winterfell. The person who shows up for the job is not whom she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was conceived as a one-shot, but the characters would not be quiet until I let them reunite. I hope that you enjoy this installment as much as the first!

I never cared much for moonlit skies,

I never wink back at fireflies.

But now that the stars are in your eyes,

I'm beginning to see the light.

                    - Ella Fitzgerald

 

As the flurries of snow slowly ground to a halt outside of Ray’s Diner, Sansa stared through the giant window overlooking the deserted stretch of highway in front of the eatery, hypnotized by the sound of the wall clock ticking, signaling the passing of each and every second.  Two hours ago, she had tried to call her brother, Jon, to ask him to drive the hour or so from Winterfell down to Westeros to rescue her and bring her to their parents’ home.  When he didn’t respond, she tried calling her brother, Robb, but his phone went straight to voice mail.  And when she tried calling her father and mother, they didn’t answer either.

Resigning herself to waiting it out, Sansa knew that Christmas Eve was always a busy time in the Stark household.  Although her family was exceptionally wealthy, her parents raised her and her five siblings to put others’ needs first.  Smiling to herself, Sansa imagined how every year on this very night, her mom and dad would stand at the counter of the soup kitchen down in Flea Bottom, serving meals to the homeless, listening to the lost and forgotten souls mourn for a life they once had.  Her older brother, Jon, would be leading the rest of the family in an a cappella rendition of traditional and contemporary Christmas carols, entertaining tonight’s residents, trying to bring a moment of peace and happiness to them.

With a heavy sigh, Sansa wished that she could be there with them right now, singing and laughing, sharing in the joy of bringing happiness to someone.

Rising up from her stool, stretching her arms like a cat waking from a nap, Sansa wondered just how long she’d have to sit in this diner tonight waiting for a ride home.  Her family most likely would have another hour or so before things wrapped up at the shelter’s annual Christmas celebration.

Now remembering her childhood, Sansa smiled as she returned to her post, sitting on the stool by the counter, fiddling with her empty coffee mug.  Every year, after serving the homeless, the Starks headed home.  Once everyone changed into their pajamas, they would all gather around the dining room table, share a simple meal, and spend time retelling old tales of Christmases long past.  Then they would play board games and watch cheesy Christmas movies till midnight.

Sansa used to love Christmas.

Ever since Joffrey entered her life two years ago, she had become completely consumed by him and his demands.  Like a spoiled child, he would huff and whine if she suggested that they just this once go spend Christmas with her parents and siblings.  Not wanting to rock the proverbial boat, she would follow him blindly, doing her utmost to play the part of the dutiful girlfriend, all the while despising every single minute she spent as a guest in the Baratheon family compound in Westeros.

The show she witnessed at Joffrey’s familial abode was something to behold.

As soon as they would arrive, Joffrey would ditch her as quickly as possible, leaving her behind while he either played video games upstairs with his younger brother or found some excuse after dinner to call up some old buddies from high school to meet up for a beer.  Left on her own, Sansa spent the next four hours watching Joffrey’s father, Robert, consume more calories than an entire football team while his bitch of a mother, Cersei, drank herself into oblivion.  Although she did enjoy his maternal Uncle Tyrion’s dry sense of humor, he drank like a fish as well, either passing out in the library or out on the veranda shortly after dinner.

And then there was Uncle Jaime, the twin brother of Joffrey’s mother.  That man could not keep his hands to himself when sober, let alone drunk.

So, the better part of Sansa’s Christmas Eve was now spent being ignored by Joffrey, getting snarky looks from his younger sister over the dinner buffet, avoiding Cersei’s malicious comments, and trying desperately to not get cornered anywhere at any time by Uncle Jaime.

Sitting here alone in the diner, Sansa was bored.  Not just bored.  Really, _really_ bored.  Ray, the extremely friendly owner of the diner, had talked to her off and on all night to help her pass the time while waiting for a brother or her father to call, but he had excused himself about 30 minutes ago to do some baking for tomorrow’s annual Christmas brunch at his church.  Bored with surfing on her cell phone that was about to die any minute anyway, Sansa wondered if Joffrey even remembered that she wasn’t at his parents’ house tonight.

Her thoughts drifted, now wondering why she had stayed with Joffrey for so long when deep down, she had always known that they were so wrong together.  Her mom and dad had raised her to care more about her soul and less about her bank account.  When college came, however, Sansa’s new circle of friends felt the opposite way.  And then when she met Joffrey, she almost completely forgot the lessons she had learned as a girl.

He was handsome and rich beyond belief, and she couldn’t deny that when she first met him her senior year at her sorority’s mixer with his fraternity, she had been titillated at the fact that his sports car cost more than two years of her tuition at Crownsland College.  Joffrey tried to sweep her off her feet, offering expensive trinkets and gifts to buy her affection.  And sadly, it had worked.

Slowly Sansa began noticing signs that he was cheating.  Their sex life had always been mediocre at best, that is, when they actually did have sex.  Joffrey’s interest in her was minimal.  Faking it had become the norm.  Then he began to spend more and more time hanging out with his buddies, going out with them instead of her.  She started to notice the way that he looked at some of her sorority sisters and the way they looked at him in return.

When she called him out on it, he would never deny it, telling her that if she had been more attentive to his needs, then he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere.  Of course, she would feel responsible, apologizing to him to make him happy with her.  Excited once again that he started paying attention to her and treating her like he had the first few months of their relationship, she would think that maybe this time things would be different.  But after a few weeks, he’d slither right back into the dive bars and gentlemen’s clubs with his cronies, leaving her to cry into her pillow, wondering just how seriously fucked up her life had become.

After Thanksgiving dinner this year, when Cersei had found Sansa crying in the billiard room after a particularly fine roof-raising row with Joffrey about his bailing on her yet again to hang out with his pals, his mother actually tried to counsel her on how to handle Joffrey.  Her advice?  Quit shedding tears.  Suck it up.  Deal with it.  Be a lady and keep your nose out of it.  As long as he comes home to you, don’t worry.

And against every fiber of her being, Sansa tried to do just that.

The final straw for her, though, came just a few hours ago.  On the drive to his parents’ home, Sansa, who had reached behind her seat to dig around for her purse, inadvertently grabbed a hold of a pair of women’s panties that were stuffed underneath her car seat.  When she started screaming at him, throwing the underwear in his face, Joffrey laughed, seemingly taking great pleasure in admitting that just two days ago, he had fucked her coworker, Ros, right there in that very back seat during Sansa’s office Christmas party, and he had kept the panties as a trophy.

Knowing that his indiscretions would never stop, Sansa was enraged.  Demanding that he pull the car over right there on the highway, slamming the door shut in his face while he laughed at her, she watched Joffrey speed away, never once looking back at her.

Walking alone in the bitter cold, dressed for a dinner party and not a hike in the snow, Sansa refused to cry.  It took her about 15 minutes in those damn high heels, but she made it to the diner, the only building with lights on in this whole cursed city.  When she entered the virtually empty establishment, Sansa was frozen to the bone, wanting nothing more than to grab some coffee and figure out how to get home to Winterfell.

Instead, she opted to have a little sport with the huge, scary looking guy in the suit sitting at the counter.  It was pathetic, yes, but damn her if she didn’t need to feel like she was pretty again.  Desirable.  Interesting.  Alluring.  Maybe even mysterious.

Yet tonight of all nights, whom should she pick to tempt but a snarky, grumpy detective who had called her out on her attempted manipulation in about five seconds flat.  Somehow he could see right through the transparency of her existence and had no qualms about telling her how stupid she was to keep beating her head against the wall.  The raw, unadulterated honesty she experienced at his hands pissed her off royally at first, then hurt like a son of a bitch.

It hurt so badly because she knew that everything he said to her was true.  The last two years of her life had been wasted.  Wasted on a short, spoiled brat who thought of her as nothing more than another prize to parade around his loser friends and eventually to produce the next generation of Baratheon degenerates.

For some reason, Sandor had been able to almost instantly break through the fake, aloof exterior that she had perfected after two years of trying to be the perfect girlfriend to a perfect prick.

Just thinking about Sandor made her smile.

His bluntness and proclivity to swear reminded her of Arya, her younger sister, who definitely had no filter.  The way he smiled that crooked, self-deprecating smile made her think of her brother, Jon.  They both seemed so genuine and real.  Sansa had a strange feeling that Sandor, cop or not, would be the kind of guy who would lay down his life to protect you, just like her father, Ned, would do if push came to shove.  And the way Sandor’s eyes lit up with mischief that brief moment when she had pointed to the mistletoe above his head made her think of Robb, who was always one to pull some sort of shenanigan.

As Ray poured her another cup of coffee, offering her yet another snack, she thought about why she had felt the urge to taunt Sandor into kissing her.  Was it just a way to get back at him for making her feel like an idiot?  No, not really.  Did she want to get back at Joffrey?  Hell, yes.  Did she enjoy kissing him?

Yes.  Yes, she absolutely fucking did.

She couldn’t believe how unbelievably forward she had been.  Sansa Stark did _not_ come on to men.  They came on to her.  So why this guy?  A cop?  OK, a detective?  An enormous detective with shoulder-length, wavy black hair that partially hid some serious scars on one side of his face.  A huge man with a full, dark beard to match the dark hairs peeking out of the neckline of his shirt and tie.

Maybe it was the excitement of pawing at a total stranger in public.  Perhaps it was the way he looked like he wanted her so badly when they had broken their kiss, like he just might throw her over that counter and take her right then and there.  It could have been the scent of his cologne or the sheer size of his ruggedly masculine form that had her in knots.  Or, it just might have been the way his whole face lit up when he smiled at her once they actually started giving each other a fleeting glimpse of their real selves.

Sansa checked the clock again.  7:06.  She’d been at the diner almost three hours now, and still no phone call from any of the Starks.  _They’re probably just about done by now.  I’ll probably get a call from Robb or Jon by 7:30.  No worries._

At least while stranded here in Westeros, she had Ray to keep her company.  Ray was a hoot.  He told her that he had been a priest once but gave up his vows for a woman.  They were married almost 30 years before she had died.  They never had children of their own, but they had taken in several rough and tough kids over the years as foster children.  Ray was such a kind man, refusing any payment at all, telling her how sorry he was that she was stuck here in his diner so long when she should be out having a wonderful time with someone special.

 _Someone special_ …

“Hey, Ray,” Sansa called out, hoping that he wouldn’t think she was a lunatic for what she was about to ask.

“What you need, love?” Ray smiled as he came out from the kitchen.  Since Sandor had left, the diner had only seen two more customers, both of whom had been gone an hour ago.  Ray and Sansa had talked extensively, getting to know each other quite well.  She really liked him and enjoyed his company.  However, Sansa hadn’t dared ask a single question about Sandor once.  She didn’t want to be _that_ obvious.  But the curiosity was starting to eat her from the inside out.

“I was wondering…” she began, worrying her bottom lip, embarrassed to be asking such a question.

“Wondering what, girl?” he asked.

Sansa took a deep breath to steady her nerves, “Is Sandor always…such an ass?”

If Ray was shocked by her question, he sure didn’t show it.  “No, he isn’t,” he smirked, wiping down the counter in front of her, “He just hates Christmas.”

Now Sansa couldn’t stand herself she was so damn curious.  “Why on earth does anyone hate Christmas?” she huffed.  _I don’t really like Christmas any more, come to think of it._

Ray’s smile faded.  He lowered his eyes momentarily before lifting them to meet hers, “That’s his story to tell, not mine, I’m afraid.  But I’ll tell you this; Sandor is a good man.  Rough around the edges, mind you.  But he’s a good, honest, hard-working man.”

Sansa felt her heart beating a little faster just thinking about the mysterious, painfully direct detective.  Before he had left to go on duty, she had demanded that they exchange phone numbers.  At the time, she felt like she was having an out of body experience.  Sansa Stark did _not_ ask for a man’s phone number.  They asked for hers.

Sansa steeled her nerves as her mind began racing ahead of itself.  Attempting to reign herself in, she reminded herself that she may never even see Sandor again.  He might have left this diner, laughed his finely sculpted ass off with his partner, and forgotten about her the minute they pulled out of the parking lot.

_Woah, hold the phone - “finely sculpted?”  Really, Sansa?_

Shaking her head to right her thoughts, she couldn’t help but laugh at herself a bit.

 _Come on,_ Sansa thought with a smile spreading across her face, _You’re sitting here daydreaming about a guy you don’t even know.  Someone who is nothing like Joffrey.  Nothing at all like Joffrey._

For amusement, she began to run through a list of differences between the two men.

_Joffrey is short.  Sandor is tall.  Joffrey is blonde.  Sandor has black hair.  Joffrey couldn’t grow a moustache to save his life.  Sandor looks like he would have to shave twice a day to fight that fur.  Joffrey is a jerk.  Sandor is…well, OK, maybe he isn’t a jerk all of the time._

Lost in her reverie, she heard the door chime behind her, signaling that another customer had entered the diner.  However, the person who had entered was not just any customer.

“Sandor!” Sansa exclaimed as she caught sight of him walking toward her.  He was still wearing his black suit, now sporting a black double-breasted overcoat for warmth.  The tie, however, was now missing in action, and the top two buttons of his shirt were opened, displaying a fair amount of dark chest hair.  She winced internally at how damn excited she had just sounded and at how suddenly excited she was feeling elsewhere, so she tried to tone down the school-girl glee just a bit, correcting herself with a more dignified tone, “I mean, Detective Clegane.”

“Hello, Miss Stark,” he replied, removing his overcoat, taking a seat on the stool beside her, leaning on one elbow, that smug look on his face telling her that he absolutely knew what she was trying to do. 

Ray popped out long enough to witness the scene before him.  His face now beaming with pleasure, he quickly waved at Sandor before ducking back out of sight into the kitchen.

“What are you doing here, detective?” she asked way more breathlessly than she had wanted to sound.

Sandor grinned at her, looking at her as he slowly ran his hand through his hair, “Not sure, really.”

Now Sansa was smiling.  “Is that so?” she asked, one copper eyebrow arching in question.  She studied Sandor’s face, wondering how the scars got there to begin with.  Her eyes then wandered to his lips.  Unconsciously, she leaned forward slightly.

“Actually, it’s been such a slow night, my captain called us off duty,” he continued, noticeably watching her, “My partner, he’s headed home to his girlfriend’s place, and I’m… well, I thought I’d pop in here to see Ray a minute or two before I headed out myself.”

“Oh,” Sansa’s smile faltered slightly.  _You idiot!  He wouldn’t have known you were still sitting here like a total loser waiting for someone in your family to answer their damn phone._

“And,” Sandor said, taking a deep breath and exhaling before finishing his thought, “Ray texted me and told me that you’re not able to get through to your family.  So, I came by mostly to see if you need a lift.”

“Really?” she asked, not believing what she was hearing, “You came here to offer to drive me an hour one way to Winterfell?  For real?”

“For real.”

“But…don’t you want to spend Christmas Eve with your family?”

“Don’t have any to speak of, really.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at him closely, “I’m…sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be,” he sniffed, “I’m used to it.”

“Still, wouldn’t you rather be doing anything else than hauling me around?” Sansa asked, still not believing that he would be willing to do this for her.

For the briefest moment, Sandor’s face became completely serious.  He stared into her crystal eyes, his slate gray pair studying her like she was about to undergo a serious interrogation.

“No, Sansa.  I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” he replied with the utmost sincerity in his voice.

Sansa was not sure how to handle that last comment of his.  This man, this uncommonly tall man with hair just begging to be touched… a total stranger, yet hauntingly familiar, just offered to drive 2 hours round-trip to deliver her to her family’s doorstep on Christmas Eve.  In the freezing cold.  And in the snow.  Lots of snow.

Then without warning, the light in her head finally switched on.

_He likes you, you moron.  He came back for you.  He’s putting your needs first.  He wants to be with you, and he’s not asked you for a single thing in return._

“You’d really do that for me?” she whispered, tilting her head slightly, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Yes, little bird, I would,” he replied, sitting up straight now, stretching his neck from side to side.

“Little bird?” she replied, a puzzled look on her face, “Why did you just call me that?”

“Because,” he answered with an air of authority, “I have no doubt that you will chirp at me incessantly the whole drive there.”

_There’s my boy._

“Oh, really,” she smirked, trying to sound annoyed when she really was enjoying this banter, probably more than she should, “And what makes you think I’d take a ride with a total stranger, hmm?  Why, for all I know, you might be an ax murderer.”

Sandor’s loud laugh echoed throughout the diner, “Well, then, there you have it.  My cover is blown.”

They both laughed together, so hard in fact that her cheeks began to hurt.  As their laughter slowed down to the giggles, Sansa wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of that diner and head home and as far away from Joffrey as possible.  Getting to ride with Sandor…maybe that was a perk.

Before she could tell him that she would love a ride to Winterfell, her phone buzzed on the counter.

“Go ahead,” Sandor nodded, his smile faltering slightly, “It may be your family saying they’re on the way.”

As she picked up her phone, Sansa’s heart started beating like a hummingbird as he watched her intently.

_Jon:  Listen, sis, I’m so sorry!  Just left the shelter and got to my car.  Phone was on vibrate.  Tell me exactly where you are, and I’ll come get you._

Worrying her bottom lip, Sansa looked up from her cell phone.  Sandor’s head was now resting in his hand as he leaned on the counter, his extremely long legs stretched out to the aisle.  When their eyes met, he shot her a grin. 

_Sansa:  No worries.  Figured the family was still there.  Got a ride there after all.  See you guys soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any one feel like singing "All I Want For Christmas Is You" right about now?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the drive to Winterfell, Sandor explains to Sansa why he hates Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you have a tissue or two...

Used to ramble through the park,

Shadowboxing in the dark.

Then you came and caused a spark,

That’s a four-alarm fire now.

                    - Ella Fitzgerald

 

As the snow showers began once again, falling straight and steady without wind, descending in a haze of white flecked with glimmers of light shining through from the high-mast lighting along the highway, Sandor sat in the driver’s seat of his older model black Ford truck, carefully watching the road while acting as Sansa’s escort to her family home in Winterfell.

And just as he had predicted earlier while at Ray’s diner, Sansa chirped incessantly while he drove, although much to Sandor’s surprise, he found himself actually enjoying her continuously running monologue.

At first, she had wanted to rehash how incredibly awesome (her words) it had been to witness Sandor in action when had taken her to the Baratheons to pick up her suitcase. 

When he had told her that they were going there to collect her things first before heading out to her parents’ house, Sansa freaked out.  She begged Sandor not to go, telling him that he didn’t know that family like she did.  Terrified that they would convince him to leave her there, or worse yet, that they would do or say something to provoke him, she pleaded with him to turn the truck around and drive straight to Winterfell.

Sandor simply laughed, reminding her that he was a trained officer of the law and that he knew how to handle a pack of vipers like Joffrey’s clan.  He reassured her that she would be fine, that she was with him now, and that he would never allow any harm to come to her.

After he let that declaration fly, Sandor regretted his choice of words, wishing he hadn’t said that she was _with him now_ , like somehow in the span of a few hours he had formed some sort of claim to her.  However, Sansa didn’t seem bothered by that at all.  In fact, she seemed to _like_ what he had said, because no sooner had he spoken did she scoot across the bench seat to plant a kiss right on the scarred side of his face.

Even with the nerve damage and numbness on that side, Sandor swore he felt tingles shoot through his cheek where her lips had been.

When Cersei had opened her front door, taking in the sight of his enormous, intimidating frame standing on her doorstep next to Sansa, who was as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo, Sandor flashed his badge, telling Cersei that he needed to speak with Joffrey.  For a brief moment, Cersei looked like she might faint, but quickly she pulled herself together, managing to put on her best fake smile and call Joffrey to the door.

Once Joffrey appeared, Sandor explained in his best professional demeanor that he was present to supervise Miss Stark while she collected her belongings because she was in fear for her safety.  That set the little fucker off like a firecracker.  Joffrey postured and preened like the annoying cock sucker he was, threatening to have Sandor’s badge and calling Sansa a litany of horrible names.

Hearing that greasy cunt calling Sansa a stupid whore took every ounce of his training as a cop not to grab that worthless piece of shit by the throat and gut him right then and there.

Through gritted teeth, Sandor warned Cersei that if any more words came pouring out of her son’s cunt mouth, Joffrey would find himself in the holding cell downtown for threatening a police officer.  Cersei, now the picture of detached aloofness, simply dismissed her son like a servant, thanking Sandor for making sure Sansa was safe, and barked at her house maid to fetch Sansa’s belongings from their guest room.

Sandor had to admit that listening to Sansa reenact the whole scene as it had unfolded like it was one of Shakespeare’s finest comedies was probably the funniest thing that he had heard in an extremely long time.  Every time Sansa got to the “cunt mouth” part of his soliloquy, hearing her attempt to mimic his own voice and demeanor almost brought tears to his eyes.

After the third go-round with that, Sansa then described in glorious detail how wonderful Christmas in the Stark family was.  Her memories of serving the needy, spending time with her large family, enjoying presents, and attending church sounded like something right out of a fucking Rockwell painting.

Then came the part that he had been dreading the entire car trip.  Sansa wanted to know about _him_.  Her barrage of questions made him feel like he was under siege.  One right after the other, questions fired off so rapidly that he almost didn’t have time to answer one before the next came shooting out of her pretty red-stained mouth.

“Favorite color?”

“Plaid.”

“Stop being difficult.  Plaid is not a color.”

“It most certainly is.”

“Fine, whatever.  What’s your favorite type of music?”

“Blues.  Hard rock.  Jazz.”

“That’s three!”

“And?”

“So, what do you do for fun?”

“Sleep.”

“Sleep?”

“I work crazy hours.  People don’t always commit crimes during a 9 to 5 workday.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right.  Well, how tall are you, really?”

“Taller than you.”

“Funny.  What is your favorite food?”

Sandor’s patience was about to snap.  “What is your record for consecutive questions asked?”

Smiling widely, Sansa’s tongue darted out to lick her lips, leaning slightly toward him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sandor couldn’t help but grin a little at her playful yet subtly suggestive tone.

With about 20 minutes left on their journey to Winterfell, they fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments.  Listening to the sounds of his truck crunching through the snow, carefully navigating the twists and turns of this secondary road leading to her parents’ residence, his thoughts drifted to how Sansa might leave things between them once she arrived at her parents’ home.  Would she tell him good-bye and be done with him?  Perhaps she would give him a polite kiss?  Should he ask her on a date?  Would she say yes?  What if she dismissed him and didn’t look back?

“Why do you hate Christmas?” Sansa blurted out, her eyes staring off into the distance out the windshield.

_Well, fuck._

“It’s a long, boring story, really,” Sandor began, hoping to dissuade further questioning along these lines.

“No, really,” she persisted, “I’d like to know.  I’ve never met anyone who hated it.”  Her eyes now drifted to the passenger window, her gaze unfocused, lost in reverie, “I didn’t like it for a while myself, thanks to Joffrey, but this year…I’m liking it a whole lot more.”  His breath caught in his throat when he saw out of the corner of his gray eyes that she was looking directly at him when she said that last part.

Taking a deep breath, filling his lungs and releasing the air slowly before he set forth down this path, Sandor warned, “It’s not a pleasant story, little bird.  Are you sure?”

“Yes, Sandor,” she assured him, “I’m sure.”

Trust was not a gift he gave away easily.  Yet for some strange reason, this immediate connection that he felt toward Sansa appeared to loosen his tongue far easier than any amount of alcohol ever had.

“You really want to know, eh?” he asked, glancing from the road to meet her stare, “I hate Christmas because of this.”  He paused, using his gear shifting hand to point to the right side of his face, marred with raised lines and ridge, “I hate it because it’s a reminder of how fucked up my family really was.”

Sandor recounted how his father had been useless shit, a heavy drinker and gambler who on numerous occasions had left Sandor and Gregor, his older brother by five years, alone to fend for themselves while off on a bender.

He told Sansa that he never knew his mother since she had passed away when he was only three due to some form of aggressive cancer.

He described to her how at night he would keep his head down, hiding in his bedroom, desperately trying to avoid a beating and to tune out the screaming matches between his father and his older brother.

He shared how Gregor was a first-class bully and how he mistreated any small child, including Sandor, or animal that dared to walk in his path.

And finally, biting the proverbial bullet, Sandor told her how on Christmas Eve the year he was eight, Gregor and their father had a row that could have raised the dead.  Threatening to burn the whole fucking place down, Gregor ran off into the night, yelling a colorful array of obscenities on his way out the door.  As Sandor sat beside his father on their worn-out couch in front of the cheap plastic table-top Christmas trees one of the neighbors had given them out of pity the previous year, his father cried, promising Sandor that he would stop drinking and would make things right.

Unfortunately, that never happened.

Sandor awoke in the wee hours of the morning to the smell of smoke.  Remembering what he had been taught in school, he dropped to the floor, crawling on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air.  When he touched the door, he felt the heat.  Scared and confused, Sandor panicked, cowering in the corner of his room, drawing his knees up to his chest, praying silently to himself as he sat waiting for death, all alone and afraid.

When he woke up in the hospital a few days later, his face covered in thick layers of white bandages, Sandor barely remembered anything that happened once the fire overtook his bedroom except for the awful odor when his face had burned.

The pain was bad, but the smell was worse.

And his brother, now in custody in the juvenile detention facility, had been arrested for arson and the murder of their father.  He hadn't seen or spoken to Gregor in over a decade, the last time being when he testified at Gregor's parole revocation hearing over in Saltpans, begging the judge to keep his career criminal brother in prison.  Judge Tarth, thank the gods, listened.

After months of skin grafts, treatments, and therapies, Sandor was discharged into the care of the local child welfare agency.  Now that he was an orphan without any extended family around to take him in, Sandor bounced from foster home to foster home, spending years without a permanent placement.  Some of the families honestly tried to make him feel welcome, doing their utmost to be gentle, kind, and understanding of the little scarred boy who refused to talk.  Soon, however, they would tire of trying so hard to deal with his rages or his bouts of silence, and off he would be sent to the next location to start all over again. 

Most of the foster homes, though, merely sought to collect a government paycheck in his name and couldn’t care less if his emotional needs were met.  Those were the homes that he showed his ass in the most, slowly turning into a hellion bent on self-destruction.

Sandor longed for the stability that never seemed to come.  And Christmas became the yearly reminder of both his pain and his heartbreak all rolled into one nicely wrapped package.

Christmas was a time meant to celebrate the wonder of St. Nicholas, to give thanks and praise for the glory of the heavens above, and to share with one’s family and fellow man.  For Sandor, Christmas meant being alone, being unwanted, and being forgotten.

Then came Ray.

Ray and his wife, Gwen, readily accepted Sandor and his punk ass into their home when he had just turned 13.  Five years in the system had hardened Sandor to the point that his case worker didn’t mind warning Ray right in front of him that he would probably not last a week at Ray’s house before Ray would be begging for Sandor to be sent back to the group home.

No matter how hard he pushed Ray, Sandor couldn’t make that man flinch.  He pulled every trick he knew, yet Ray always forgave him, reassuring Sandor that he saw good in him and that he would never give up on him.  Why Ray cared so much about a scarred, angry kid was something Sandor just couldn’t figure out.

Over time, Sandor began to trust and respect Ray.  He became a surrogate father to Sandor.  Eventually, he even became Sandor’s adoptive father, too.  If it weren’t for Ray, he would have ended up in jail instead of putting people in one.

The one thing Ray’s love couldn’t erase was the bad taste Christmas left in Sandor’s mouth.  No matter how many wonderful memories he might have right now thanks to Ray and his wife, the damage was done.  Christmas for Sandor was about suffering, nothing more.  And no matter how many times he tried to get past it, he couldn’t.

Sandor hated himself for telling Sansa that story.  Not because it had brought back painful memories, but because it had made her cry.  Hearing her break down, starting with the sniffles which mutated into out and out sobs, just about shattered his normally indifferent heart.

“There, there, it’s alright,” he shushed, pulling the truck over onto the shoulder, slamming the gears into park, turning on the emergency flashers, “Don’t cry, Sansa.  Please don’t cry.  That was a lifetime ago.”  _Way to go, Clegane.  Now look what you’ve gone and done._

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she mumbled between sobs, “How awful!  I don’t know how you survived that horrible…all of that…”

“I’m a big fucker,” he grinned, hoping his attempt at humor might soften the edges a bit, “Don’t worry about me.”

Slowly calming down, wiping her tears on some scrap of tissue she dug out of her purse, she turned to look at him.  Sansa’s crystal blue eyes met his, staring so intently into his that he thought she could see into the depths of any soul he might have left.

“I asked Ray why you hated Christmas so much,” she said as she undid her seatbelt, “He told me it was your story to tell.”  She slowly moved toward him like he was a fragile, hurt animal, afraid to scare him away, “I’ve been sitting here, babbling on and on like an idiot all night.  Forgive me.”  With that, Sansa took his hand off the gears, holding it in both of hers.

“Forgive you?” Sandor asked, a puzzled expression consuming his face, not sure what to say next.

“For not saying thank you,” she spoke in a hushed voice, “Thank you for being honest with me.  For waking me up.  For helping me break free of Joffrey.  For saving me.”  Sansa’s left hand raised gradually, tentatively cupping his scarred cheek in her small hand, “You’re the hero, Sandor.  You’re _my_ hero.”

When her lips met his for the second time tonight, Sandor was convinced that he had died and gone to heaven.

Gentle at first, barely touching his lips with her own, Sansa’s hand found its way into his hair, tugging firmly, pulling him as close to her as possible with a stick shift in the way.  Stunned at the feeling of her mouth on his, Sandor felt her tongue lightly graze his bottom lip, tacitly asking for permission to enter.

Lost in the glory of her kiss, Sandor groaned, allowing her tongue inside, letting her take from him whatever it was she needed in that moment.

As she pulled away, her chest rising and falling rapidly in time with her ragged breaths, her hand now resting back on his, Sansa smiled at him, “And thank you for that, too.”

Sandor’s tongue poked out of his mouth, tracing the outline of his bottom lip, tasting her, desperately wanting to do that again.  “I should be the one thanking you, little bird,” he rasped.

“For the kiss?” she asked demurely, lowering her head slightly as she looked at him through her lashes.

“No, for this,” he replied, moving her hand to hold on his chest right over his heart, “For making me remember that I have one of these.  For making me feel something more than hate or indifference.  For…”

“For what?” she asked, watching him closely as he leaned forward, his eyes never breaking contact.

“For saving _me_ ,” he replied, reaching out to stroke her fiery mane before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her lips, afraid to ask too much of this incredible young woman too soon.

As he pulled back and opened his eyes, Sandor saw her worrying her bottom lip.

“Take me home,” she whispered, “And I want you to spend Christmas with me, Sandor.  Please?”

“You do?” he asked, completely at a loss as to why she would want such a bitter man to join in with her family’s annual traditions.

“Because,” she smiled, brushing his long, dark hair away from his face, exposing his scarred side, “It’s time you make some new memories about Christmas, that’s why.”

Sandor smiled in return, the idea of spending time with Sansa swirling about in his head, ‘With you.  And your family?”

“Yes, with my family, too,” she beamed, “They’ll love you!”

“And just what are you going to tell them about me?” he asked, reaching up to scratch his dark beard with his hand, “How will you introduce me?”

“Why, as Detective Clegane, my champion and my...new friend,” Sansa replied.

_New friend…well, that’s a good start, right?_

“Friend…OK, that’ll work,” Sandor stated as he turned the hazard lights off and moved to start driving again.

“Unless, of course,” Sansa grinned, “You have a better description in mind?”

_Wait, what…oh, you naughty little bird…thinking of me like that, are you?_

“Let’s see how the rest of this night goes first,” he said with a wink, “And I’ll let you know.”

The sheer delight in her laughter at his comment as he pulled back onto the highway made his heart soar.  He even let her turn the radio to a channel playing Christmas music.  And the funniest thing of all was that Sandor actually caught himself humming to a few of the tunes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends first...I think that's a great start!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor is welcomed with open arms into the Stark family this Christmas Eve, and he willingly submits himself to all of the rituals that her family has to please Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve will never be the same for anyone this year!

I never went in for afterglow,

Or candlelight on the mistletoe.

But now when you turn the lamp down low,

I’m beginning to see the light.

                    - Ella Fitzgerald

 

 

As a fluffy blanket of fresh snow lay twinkling under the silvery moonlight that shone down upon the ground outside the Stark family home, Sandor sat patiently in the living room, uncomfortably stuffed into too small a space on their plush couch, sandwiched in between Sansa’s two youngest brothers, Bran and Rickon, who were inundating him with a series of questions that would put any veteran detective’s interrogation to shame.  Once the two of these young men had found out that Sandor was a cop, they pounced on him immediately, asking him round after round of questions regarding his line of work, trapping him upstairs while the rest of the Stark clan had ventured downstairs for the annual round of family board game time.

When Sansa had shot him a knowing wink as she peeked around the doorframe, willingly abandoning him to her two curious as fuck brothers, Sandor glared at her, hoping she would be intimated enough to come back into the damn living room and rescue him.

Nope.  Not one bit. 

In fact, as Robb and Jon pushed past her on their way downstairs, Sansa had waved at him, shouting at her two younger brothers to make sure that Sandor felt right at home.

Even Sandor had to smile at her deviousness in throwing him to the two young wolves.

“What’s the worst crime scene you’ve ever seen?” Bran asked, his eyes wide with anticipation at the possibility of hearing a variety of gory descriptions.

“Uh, well, let me see…there was this one time my partner and I –“

“Was it a murder scene?” Rickon interjected, leaning forward, his knees bumping into Sandor’s leg.

“Actually, it was a –“

“Was it a suicide?” Bran interrupted again, “Or a burglary gone awry?”

“No, neither,” Sandor huffed, feverishly trying to suppress the growl that was forming in the back of his throat, “If you’d just let me –“

“Oh, I know!” Rickon yelled, pointing at Bran across Sandor’s body, “It was a car crash!  I bet it was a huge crash that mangled everyone –“

“Boys, that’s quite enough,” Sansa’s father, Ned, said as he patted Bran’s shoulders, “It’s Christmas eve.  No more talk of murders, suicides, or the like.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dad!” Rickon whined, “He’s a _cop_.  He loves talking about this kind of stuff.  Right, Sandor?”  He whacked Sandor’s upper arm like they were buddies, as if it would prove to his father that Sandor was completely enjoying the deluge of questions that he could never actually answer about his line of work.

“And you know, Dad,” Bran joined in, “Sansa threatened to dump water on our Xbox if we weren’t nice to him.  So, that’s what we’re doing.  We’re being nice.”

Sandor’s irritation at being subjected to the third degree subsided when he realized that Sansa had asked her family to make him feel welcome.  Well, apparently, she had coerced more than asked, but that was beside the point.  She wanted him to feel at ease here in the Stark mansion.  _It’s going to take more than that, I’m afraid, little bird,_ he thought smugly to himself.

Ned just smiled widely, shooing the boys out of the living room, insisting that they go join the rest of the family in the den where the board game bonanza was underway.  As the boys disappeared around the corner, the sounds of their feet slamming upon the steps, echoing into the living room as they descended rapidly to the den downstairs, Ned plopped down in the recliner next to the couch closest to where Sandor was seated.

“Sorry about that, Sandor,” Ned said as he kicked the foot rest out, now leaning back in his chair like he was lord of the manor, “They’ve watched too many of those forensic shows on the telly.  And then here you show up on their doorstep…they would have had you here for hours if I hadn’t saved you, I’m afraid.”

Sandor couldn’t help but chuckle, “Ah, I don’t mind, really.  They seem very eager, I’ll say that.”

Ned smiled at Sandor’s assessment.  The two men fell into a comfortable silence, neither really sure what to say next.  Looking at the mug of eggnog that Sansa’s mother, Catelyn, had handed to Sandor almost an hour ago, still sitting on the coffee table barely touched, Ned’s mouth turned into a knowing grin, “Don’t care for the eggnog, eh?”

Sandor’s eyes snapped up to meet Ned’s face, then glanced over to the giant candy-cane striped mug full of luke-warm eggnog, unsure of how to answer at the moment.  Catelyn all but demanded that he try her “special blend,” claiming it had won a contest several years ago at their church.  For a brief moment, Sandor thought about lying, telling Ned that this eggnog was the most fabulous beverage that he had ever had the privilege to sample.

However, Sandor never lied, and in fact, he hated liars, so he opted to tell the truth even if it meant getting his ass kicked out into the bitter cold, “I…no, sir, I’ve never really cared for it.”

Ned laughed at the sight of such an enormous man, one that looked like he could virtually rip a man’s head clean off his shoulders with his bare hands, appearing to be so damned uncomfortable in his presence.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Ned whispered, shooting a glance behind him before continuing, “I don’t like it either.  But I drink gallons of that stuff this time of year just to make my wife happy.  It’s been almost 30 years we’ve been together, and she still thinks I like it.”

Sandor’s eyes opened ridiculously wide, causing Ned to laugh loudly, “Why don’t you just tell her?” Sandor asked as he tried to figure out why Sansa’s father had bothered to withhold the truth from her mother all of these years, “Surely she wouldn’t care?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Ned said, his hand lightly scratching at his sandy-blond beard, touched lightly with a few strokes of gray, “But I’d do absolutely anything to make her happy.  And if it means drinking a mug of eggnog, I’ll do it.”

_Anything to make her happy…right.  I know the feeling, mate._

Before Sandor could reply, Sansa entered the room, followed closely by her older brother, Jon.  All of the family members were clad in a variety of Christmas-themed flannel pajamas and long sleeve t-shirts.  Sansa looked like an elf with her green and red striped pair, her long copper waves now contained in a low ponytail.  No more make-up, tight dresses, or sky-high heels.  Just fuzzy socked feet and a huge smile plastered across her pretty freckled face as she sat beside him on the couch.  To Sandor, she was just as gorgeous now as she had been several hours ago when she marched into Ray’s diner and straddled that stool beside him.

Well, she hadn’t actually straddled the stool, but damn him if he didn’t prefer to remember it that way.

Thankfully, Sandor had an emergency change of clothes in his gym bag in the truck when they had arrived because Catelyn, refusing to take no for answer, insisted that he spend the night with them since the snow-covered roads could be dangerous to navigate.  When he had tried to backpedal, slightly panicking at the thought of being stuck with so many new faces for so long, she simply hooked her arm in his, leading him to their guest bedroom on the second floor next to the master suite, asking her sons to fetch Sandor’s things for him out of his truck. 

Instead of a matching pair of Christmas jammies, Sandor sat in the Starks’ living room in a black short sleeve t-shirt and black pair of athletic pants.  He swore to himself that it must look like the Reaper himself had come to visit their little family gathering when he saw himself surrounded by the yards of festive bedtime attire.

When he had arrived earlier with Sansa, the Starks swarmed the both of them like a pack of wolves pouncing on a frightened deer.  Sandor could count on one hand the number of people he remembered hugging since he had moved in with Ray as a boy, and in less than 30 seconds after entering the Stark mansion, that number had doubled.

After the greetings were finished and Sandor’s measly belongings were ensconced in their guest room, Catelyn wasted no time in diving head-first into asking Sandor how he and Sansa had met.  With fourteen eyeballs staring at him, Sandor’s mouth went dry.  Before he could speak, though, Sansa saved his ass, launching into her account of what had occurred over the last several hours down in Westeros.

In front of the entire group, Sansa announced that she and Joffrey were through, that she finally felt free, and that Sandor had helped her get through the break up.  That declaration elicited an extraordinarily rowdy round of hoots and hollers from her siblings.  Her parents, showing much more restraint, told Sansa that they would support any decision that she made.

Sandor sat dumbfounded as her family laughed until they cried upon witnessing Sansa’s rendition of the showdown between her self-appointed avenging angel, Detective Clegane, and the mean-spirited, no-good cheater Joffrey.  She even told them how they had met at Ray’s diner and how Sandor had come back for her when he had found out from Ray that she was stranded.

When the epic saga had been told, Ned stood from his barstool in the kitchen where everyone had gathered to hear the tale, shaking Sandor’s hand, telling him that he was welcome in their home any time.  The look of pride on Sansa’s face when both Robb and Jon followed suit caused Sandor to feel like his heart might burst on the spot.

For the last hour, the detective in Sandor wouldn’t die down as he absorbed as much information and details about Sansa’s family as he possibly could.

Ned was a ruggedly handsome man who seemed to be an extremely kind man, gentle and firm.  He reminded Sandor of the type of father that could have been in one of those dorky black and white television shows from the 50’s.

With her flaming red hair and pale blue eyes, Catelyn was obviously the parent who gave Sansa her alluring features.  Catelyn was warm and welcoming, a true homemaker, buzzing about the place in a constant state of motion, making sure that everyone had enough to eat and that everyone was having a wonderful time.

Robb was Sansa’s oldest brother by a year, and although he was a bit reserved like Ned when Sandor was first introduced, Robb warmed right up as soon as he found out that Sandor was a rugby fan.  He worked as an accountant for his father at the family business and was engaged to his college sweetheart who was visiting her family over in Volantis this Christmas.

Jon, it turned out, was actually a cousin who was raised by the Starks after his parents died, and he was the same age as Robb.  Jon was extremely friendly and outgoing, much like Catelyn, and once Jon had found out that Sandor played guitar, he made Sandor promise that they would have a jam session tomorrow morning after the presents were opened.  Jon was a musician who was an assistant high school band teacher and choir director at their church.

Arya was a criminal justice major in her last year at Crownsland College.  Her colorful language and lack of filter on what she thought about Sandor caused both Catelyn and Sansa to sass her thoroughly, but Sandor didn’t mind.  He actually enjoyed verbally sparring with her, and when he offered to call in a favor over at the Winterfell Police Department’s office to get her an internship, he was smothered by an enormous hug that didn’t seem possible from such a tiny wisp of a girl Arya’s size.

As Sansa sat down beside Sandor on the couch, Ned pulled his recliner into the upright position, excusing himself to go collect the rest of the family downstairs for movie time.  Jon turned on the television, cycling through the list of possible Christmas movies that were available.

“So, which one looks good?” Jon said as he pushed his shoulder-length dark brown curls out of his eyes.

“How about Rudolph?” Sansa asked, turning to look at Sandor.

 _As if I’ve ever given a damn about Christmas movies._   Ned’s words from earlier suddenly rang in his ears.  _“I’d do anything to make her happy.”_

“Sure, whatever you want,” Sandor replied with as fake a smile as he could muster.

“Nah, we saw that one already before you got here,” Jon said, rubbing his dark beard along his chin, “Maybe the one about the crazy next door neighbor with all the lights?”

“Hmm, that is a good one,” Sansa pondered, worrying her bottom lip as she looked over the list displayed one the screen.

“Hey, I know, why don’t we let Sandor pick?” Jon beamed, proud that he had figured out a way to include Sansa’s new friend into the decision-making process.

Now one set of pale blue eyes and one set of dark brown eyes were intently focused on him.

_Like I know anything about this!_

“I…well, maybe…”

“You do have a favorite Christmas movie, right?” Jon quizzed, his brows knitting together.

“Uh, no, I mean, well…”

“He most certainly does,” Sansa replied, shooting a wink right at him, “Here, give it to me.”  She reached out, yanking the remote out of her brother’s hand, scrolling down the list until she found her target.  “Here it is!” she giggled as the rest of her family began to pile into the living room.

Sandor, who had been watching Sansa’s every move, now looked at the television to see what she had picked.  _Why you little…_

“Oh, I love The Grinch!” said Robb, falling onto the couch on the other side of Sandor, draping his arm across the back like they were on a date, “Good choice, man.”

“Yeah, good choice!” added Arya while she jumped onto a bean bag chair.

As the family found their places while the theme song was now playing, Sandor turned his head to look directly at Sansa, his lips pursed together as he tried desperately to whip up his best irritated visage.  When she tentatively reached out, taking his hand in hers, worrying her bottom lip in that damn sexy way she did when she was nervous, Sandor froze in place.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered, leaning into his personal space, propping herself against his broad shoulders.  Sandor looked down as she laid her head on his shoulder, wrapping her other hand around his large bicep, now focused on watching the movie.

His eyes quickly darted around the room, trying to gauge the reaction her family was having at Sansa’s display of affection right about now.  All of the men along with Arya were staring at the television.  Catelyn, however, was looking straight at him, taking in the sight of her daughter snuggled so closely to him.

When Catelyn smiled at him, nodding her head as if she were tacitly agreeing with Sansa’s decision, Sandor thought for sure that he was about to spontaneously combust right then and there.

Emboldened by her mother’s unspoken acceptance of his budding relationship with her daughter, Sandor leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on top of Sansa’s head.

“Yes, little bird, it’s definitely a merry Christmas this year,” he replied, leaning his head down to rest on top of hers, smiling as he joined her at viewing the ridiculous movie, enjoying the irony of watching the grumpy green creature’s small heart grow three sizes that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to get a cavity, this story is so sweet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early hours of Christmas morning, Sansa ponders how drastically her life has changed in such a short period of time. On her way downstairs to the kitchen, she overhears an extremely enlightening conversation between Sandor and a couple of her family members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa opts to eavesdrop on the conversation. How do you think that will turn out?

I never made love by lantern-shine

I never saw rainbows in my wine

But now that your lips are burning mine

I'm beginning to see the light

                    - Ella Fitzgerald

 

 

As the snow glistened brightly under the first cracks of the rising morning sunshine, Sansa sat on her bed in the room that she had grown up in, legs tucked to her chest, quietly watching the icicles hanging from the eaves starting to drip from the slightly warming temperature.  Trying her best to not wake Arya, who was snoring soundly in the twin bed across the bedroom, Sansa reflected upon how drastically her life had changed in such a short period of time.

In less than 24 hours, Sansa’s entire world was turned upside down, not that she was complaining at all.  She had walked out of her two-year relationship with Joffrey, and although she imagined that she should be extremely upset right now, she wasn’t.  In fact, she was quite content.  Relieved.  Alright, she was downright elated.

Smiling to herself as she recalled how shocked that Joffrey and his mother had been when Sandor had warned Cersei that he would haul Joffrey’s skinny ass to jail if he spoke to her again, Sansa knew in that moment she was finally free.  Free of Joffrey.  Free of the shame and frustration of being constantly belittled and ignored.  Free to go back to being the fun-loving, outgoing person that she once was.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, stretching until her joints popped, Sansa felt like things were drastically changing all around her, yet she was in complete and total control.  She was the one in charge of her destiny now.  Feeling like her true self for the first time in years, Sansa could literally feel the aloof façade that she had erected around herself shedding like a second skin.  It had been an amazingly long time since Sansa actually felt like, well, Sansa.

Sansa could not for the life of her figure out why everything had fallen so neatly in to place for her.  Her timing, something that usually was nothing to be proud of, had finally gone her way.  In a rash decision, she had bailed out of Joffrey’s car.  In a moment of luck, she had found her way to Ray’s diner.  And in an act of God, she had met Sandor.

_Sandor…_

The extremely tall, well-built, detective that reeked of masculinity.  The abrupt, often irritatingly honest detective who had called her out on her attempted ruse at the diner, who had rescued her from Joffrey like some enormous, grumpy, much hairier version of the proverbial knight in shining honor, and who had inadvertently stolen a little piece of her heart in the process.  A wounded, gentle man disguised in a thick layer of bitterness and anger, a man who used those emotions like a shield to guard himself from getting hurt.

Her family liked him.  More importantly, she liked him.  And the more she thought about him, the _more_ she liked him.

Deep down, Sansa knew that she already was interested in getting to know her new detective friend on a level that was far more inappropriate for a young lady to want, considering that she had just broken up with a boyfriend less than one day earlier.  But if Sansa were being honest, she had known in her heart for some time that she and Joffrey were through.  Until she had met Sandor, she didn’t have the courage to say enough is enough.

 _Is it possible that Sandor would want me?_ Sansa pondered, _Am I destined to only be a friend to him?_

As Sansa sighed deeply, glancing out her bedroom window one last time before standing up, creeping slowly and quietly to the door, opening it gently so the creak wouldn’t give away her departure, she couldn’t help but smile when she remembered how warm and muscular Sandor felt when she had snuggled up so closely to him during the movie last night.  No one in her family breathed a word to her after the movie was finished about how she had had cuddled up against him.  Not even Arya, who _always_ had something to say about everything.

Carefully shutting the bedroom door behind her, tiptoeing down the long hallway toward the staircase leading to the kitchen, Sansa couldn’t seem to help but momentarily stop outside of the guest room where Sandor had spent the night.  Wondering if he slept well last night after willingly enduring a variety of Stark familial obligations, Sansa had to suppress a fit of giggles that threated to escape her mouth just thinking about how much fun it had been to watch him play _Dragon Age_ on the Xbox in the den with her two younger brothers, hearing him desperately trying to suppress a string of curses each time he got his ass kicked, or to see the look of horror on Sandor’s face when her mother had requested his presence in the kitchen when it came time to serve another round of eggnog.

Sansa wondered how completely different her night would have been like if she had chosen to stay in Joffrey’s sports car, if she hadn’t walked into Ray’s diner, or if she hadn’t met Sandor.

All in an instant, Sandor had handed Sansa her life back on a well-polished silver platter.  He was the one who had called her out on her ridiculous relationship.  It had been Sandor who came back for her at the diner, willing to skip hanging out with Ray to make sure she arrived home safely.  Sandor was the one she had kissed under the mistletoe and again in his truck on the ride here.  Twice.  And once again after he had walked her to her bedroom door, bidding her good-night, turning to walk away when she had grabbed his large wrist, pulling him to her.

Although the good-night kiss she had planted on Sandor’s lips had been extremely chaste, she had felt a flush of heat spreading across her face all the way down to her chest, not to mention a hint of lust jing-jang-jingling in her private parts when his hands had wound themselves around her tiny waist for the briefest of seconds.

And after they had broken apart, slightly breathless and unsure of what to do next, Sandor shot her that damn smug smile he seemed to have plastered on his face every time she looked at him now.  At that moment, Sansa had wanted nothing more than to yank him into her room by his t-shirt, slam the door shut, and climb him like a Christmas tree.

Shaking her head to recalibrate her thoughts, Sansa wondered why she felt such a strong attraction to the man when, to be honest, they barely knew each other.  Just coming out of an agonizing two-year relationship didn’t really make her that marketable, yet Sandor seemed to be interested in her.

Perhaps it was the excitement of being around a man who was so dramatically different than Joffrey.  Maybe it was the way Sandor had stood up to her and for her, not willing to compromise on what was right.  Whatever the initial spark had been yesterday, it was now smoldering hot and steamy right under the surface of Sansa’s skin.

As she padded down the staircase, fully intent on grabbing a cup of coffee before everyone else in the house was awake and figuring out just what she wanted to say to Sandor this morning when he left Winterfell and headed home, she froze in her tracks when she overheard the sound of male voices talking in the kitchen.  Sansa was shocked that anyone other than herself was even up at this unholy hour.  _It’s only 6:18!  Why in the world is anyone up yet, except maybe Mom?_

Creeping up slowly to the doorway, Sansa waited just outside the kitchen door, flattening herself along the wall to not give away her presence.

In the kitchen sat Sandor at the dinette set, drinking a cup of coffee.  Across from the table directly in front of him sat Robb, who was fiddling with what appeared to be an empty mug.  To Sandor’s right, Jon was also sitting at the table, blowing on his cup of coffee, apparently trying to ease into his morning caffeine fix.

 _Great, Sansa,_ she chastised herself, _Has it really come to this?  You’re eavesdropping, now?_

“Still, Sandor,” Robb said as he traced the rim of his coffee mug with his index finger, “You have to know that we hated Joffrey.”

Jon smiled, taking a small sip of his coffee.  “Actually, hate isn’t strong enough a word, is it?”

Robb and Jon chuckled together while Sandor remained quiet as a mouse.

“Well, you can classify how much I detested that little jerk any way you want.  I’m just thankful that she’s finally through with that guy,” Robb added, rising from his seat and walking toward the coffee maker, pouring himself another mug full, “If only she could’ve seen the light earlier and dumped his sorry butt two years ago, she wouldn’t have put herself in the situation like she did yesterday.”

Sandor remained silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Robb’s statements.  He continued to slowly sip his coffee, outwardly appearing to be completely indifferent to her oldest brother’s rant.  That stoic, slightly disinterested visage Sandor was sporting just so happened to be the same look he had on his face when Sansa had first spoken to him yesterday at Ray’s diner.  _Oh, he’s good,_ she giggled to herself, _Remind me to never play poker with him.  It looks like he’s cooking up a response…look out, Robb!_

“So, Sandor,” Jon said, turning his head to look directly at the massive man sitting in the chair next to his, trying to redirect the awkward direction Robb’s commentary was headed, “Sansa said you guys just met.  Like, yesterday.  Is that for real?”

“Yes,” Sandor finally spoke after a long drink from his coffee cup, “I was about to start my shift.  She popped into the diner as I was about to leave.”

“And you volunteered to bring her home after she had told you about her asshole boyfriend leaving her on the side of the road?” Robb chimed in, rejoining the other two men at the table.

“Actually, she told me that part of the story on the ride here,” Sandor answered, a barely detectable grin creeping across his scarred face, obviously thinking about his drive to Winterfell, “I went back to the diner once my captain called me off duty to see if she needed a lift home because I thought she might be stranded.”

“Wow,” Jon beamed, “That’s such a really generous offer on any day of the year, let alone on Christmas Eve.”

“Thanks, Sandor,” Robb stated sincerely, “I’m really glad that you were there for her last night.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jon added, lifting his coffee mug at Sandor as if giving a toast.

Sandor simply nodded his head, tacitly accepting their words of praise.  The three men fell into a slightly awkard silence that Sansa decided was a perfect segway for her to walk into the kitchen like she hadn’t just been standing outside the door listening to the conversation.  Just as she was about to move, Robb spoke again.

“What are your intentions with my sister?” he asked bluntly, his bright blue eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Sandor’s reaction.

“Robb, come on!” Jon huffed, rolling his dark brown eyes at his brother, “What century are we in again?”

Robb turned his attention to Jon, now ignoring Sandor, “Why shouldn’t I ask?  Maybe if I’d spoken up when she brought that loser home, she wouldn’t have had to go through what she did with him.”  Jon’s face was now red as a beet, thanks to Robb’s lack of decorum.

“It’s OK, Jon,” Sandor spoke quietly, rubbing his dark beard along his chin, “I’ll answer your brother’s question.”

Both Robb and Jon turned to look at Sandor, who took a deep breath before he continued.

“You’re her big brothers.  Actually, I think it’s a good thing that you invited my ass down here this morning to interrogate me, Robb,” Sandor began, enjoying how the younger man’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “You’re simply doing what you should always do: protect your sisters.”

As he finished his last statement, Sandor rose from his seat, walking to the sink where he began rinsing out his mug, “And, although you doubted your sister’s senses not too long ago when it came to that little prick, I think otherwise.

While opening the dishwasher, placing his used mug on the top rack and then shutting the door, Sandor smiled defiantly as he stared hard at the two younger men whose obvious confusion was written all over their handsome faces.

“I think she’d seen your proverbial light years ago, but she chose to stay on board not because she couldn’t do any better that Joffrey or because she thought that she could change the little ass-munch.  No, I believe that she chose to keep trying to make it work because she was the only person able to see what little good there is in him that might exist,” Sandor continued, walking back to the kitchen table, looming over Robb, “She doesn’t give up on people.  And that’s why I’m standing here with the lot of you this morning.  Sansa saw the good in me when I didn’t know there was any left.”

Sandor leaned down slightly, placing his enormous hand on Robb’s shoulder, finishing his thought, “Sansa is a brave young lady.  Don’t ever forget that.  And I’m happy that I was able to help her yesterday.  As for my intentions, well, let’s just say this,” Sandor smirked, giving Robb’s shoulder a squeeze, “I intend to treat each moment that she allows me in her presence as a gift.  I have no expectations, nor will I ever.”

Robb was left speechless.  Sansa was in awe.  And Jon was grinning from ear to ear.

“Come one, you two, that’s enough soul searching for today.  It’s 6:28 in the morning and we’re the only ones up,” Jon laughed, standing up from his seat and whacking Robb on the back.  “What say you, Sandor?  Care for that jam session now before present time begins?”

Knowing that Sandor had gotten his goat, Robb slowly smiled up at Sandor as he rose from his seat.  He stuck his hand out to Sandor, who in turn, shook it.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Sandor laughed as her brothers exited the kitchen through the doorway leading to the living room.

Sansa, still poised right outside the entrance to the kitchen, couldn’t stop smiling at what Sandor had said about her.  She wanted to grab him by his giant hand, pull him aside, and wrap her well-toned arms around him.

Sandor cleared his throat, not moving from his spot.

“I’ll be there in a second,” he called out, leaning forward to brace himself on the back of the dinette chair.  Sansa could see that smug look spreading across his face yet again.

“You’re shit at hiding, you know that?” Sandor chided, looking over his shoulder almost directly at her as she lurked in the shadows of the darkened space between the stairs and the kitchen entrance.

_What?  How did he…why didn’t he…crap!_

Before she could move or reply, he rose to his full height, shooting a wink her way.

“This day’s really not working out the way you planned, is it, little bird?” Sandor teased, moving to leave the kitchen to follow her brothers.  Without looking her way again, she could hear him chuckling all the way to the door leading downstairs to the den.

She had to admit, Sandor was a damn fine detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busted! Man, that's going to be hard to live down with Sandor, don't you think?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year has passed, and now that Christmas Eve has arrived yet again, Sandor and Sansa spend some time at Ray's Diner before heading to her family's home in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Sandor reflects upon his relationship with Sansa over the past 365 days, he steels his nerves before asking her an extremely important question.

I never cared much for moonlit skies

I never wink back at fireflies

But now that the stars are in your eyes

I'm beginning to see the light 

                    - Ella Fitzgerald

 

As the snow began to fall outside of Ray’s Diner, Sandor sat inside on his normal seat at the counter, basking in the laughter and playful banter transpiring between Sansa and Ray.  This was the first Christmas Eve in his eleven years on the force that Sandor had not been on duty, and it felt sinfully delicious.  In fact, he had made it a point to request this day as well as the next five days off over five months ago, making damn sure that tonight of all nights he would not have to spend his time chasing down leads on perps or playing good cop/bad cop on a suspect with his partner, Bronn, for the millionth time.

The irony of the events as they were unfolding before him were not lost on Sandor.  It had been on this night one year to the day that a certain feisty redhead marched into Ray’s establishment with her three-inch designer heels, bent on having a little sport with him, and completely turned his world upside down.  It had been 365 days since that fateful encounter where he had called her out on her intentions, had assessed her relationship with that little fucker she thankfully dumped, and had brought her to the safety of her family’s home in Winterfell.

It had been a year since Sansa had unintentionally stolen his heart, buried ages ago under multiple layers of anger and sarcasm.

This year, however, Sandor couldn’t help but feel like the proverbial dog who had finally caught the car.  Just last week, he had found himself singing along with one of those insufferable Christmas carols while driving around the city with Bronn, much to his partner’s amusement.  The little old ladies with their obnoxious sweaters milling about town didn’t seem so obnoxious any more.  And the yards and yards of Christmas lights wrapped over every square inch of Westeros this time of the year…well, they were still fucking annoying, but at least they were considerably more tolerable this year than they had been for an extremely long time.

Last year, Sandor had inadvertently become a regular fixture at the Starks home, thanks to his night spent in their abode on Christmas Eve.  After Sansa’s family had finished decimating their pile of presents that Christmas morning, Jon had noticed that there remained one small, sparkly red gift bag sitting all alone under the enormous tree in the living room.  When Catelyn had asked Rickon to fetch it and to read the tag to see to whom it belonged, Sandor was completely stunned when Rickon called out Sandor’s name. 

_A gift for me?  What in the hell…how?  There’s no fucking way…_

Embarrassed beyond belief as fourteen eyeballs stared at him, Sandor gingerly yanked the fluffy ball of green and white striped tissue paper out of the gift bag, peering nervously inside to see what lay hidden.  He slowly pulled out a folded piece of red construction paper, covered in glitter and puffy Christmas-themed stickers.  Completely baffled, Sandor unfolded the piece of paper, reading the obviously computer-generated inscription inside silently to himself:

_“To Sandor:_

_This coupon is good for two home cooked meals at the Starks residence.  Day of the week dinner will be served is optional.  Meal prepared for your dining pleasure is negotiable.  Sansa’s presence is welcomed but not required to redeem this coupon._

_Thank you on behalf of the entire Stark family for bringing our daughter home to us this year.  We are forever grateful to you and for your friendship with Sansa._

_Best wishes this Christmas season,_

_Ned & Catelyn Stark_

And on the bottom of the creation, a hand-written postscript with a definite female flair was included:

_P.S.  Just so you know, Sandor, this coupon was Arya’s idea and was hand-made by her late last night.  Don’t tell her, though.  She has an image to maintain._

_Love,_

_Cat”_

When Sandor was about to leave the Starks residence in the early afternoon on Christmas day, he thanked Sansa’s parents and family for allowing him to spend the night and for making him feel so welcome.  Never one for public displays of affection, Sandor was completely taken off-guard by all of the hugs and well-wishes her family bestowed upon him.  As he was about to climb into his truck to head to Ray’s house, Sansa ran forward from the group of Starks huddled on the front porch, charging full steam at him, throwing her own arms around him and nearly squeezing the life out of him.

And when she whispered in his ear that she couldn’t wait to see him again, Sandor was quite certain that he suddenly had become the luckiest damn man on the planet.

Smiling to himself as the memory swept over him, Sansa snapped him back to the present moment when she bumped his forearm with her elbow.

“Hey, where did you go just now?” she teased, her head cocked to the side as she studied him intently.  Her auburn tresses were left down tonight, just as Sandor preferred, the long waves flowing down the back of the same skin-tight red velvet dress she had worn last year, also at his request.

“I was thinking about last Christmas,” he smiled.

As Sansa’s face lit up with amusement, Sandor followed his answer with a taunt, “And I was also wondering how long you two old hens plan to cluck away before we head out of here.” Dodging the very same elbow Sansa had just used to nudge him as she launched it at his rib cage, he couldn’t keep from laughing loudly at her glare.

“Oh, don’t mind him, love,” Ray smirked with an incredible sense of satisfaction as he leaned against the counter on his forearms, watching the young couple interact, “You of all people know his bark is far worse than his bite.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sansa said, sticking her tongue out at Sandor, who was still chuckling at his jest.  “Anyway,” she continued, turning her full attention to Ray once again, “My mother will not take no for an answer on this, so you might as well give up.  Just ask Sandor.  Catelyn Stark is a force to be reckoned with.”

“She’s right, Ray,” Sandor grinned as he took a drink from his coffee mug, “There’s no use in fighting it.  The Stark women are relentless.”

“OK, you two win,” Ray laughed, shaking his head in defeat, enjoying the look that Sansa just shot Sandor’s way, “I’ll plan to drive up tomorrow after church is finished.  Please tell your mother I’d be delighted to join your family for Christmas dinner.”  Ray gave Sandor a wink as he finished his thought, “Besides, I’ve heard nothing but fabulous reviews from Sandor about your mother’s special egg nog recipe.  I can’t wait to give it a whirl.”

If looks could kill, Ray knew that Sandor’s scowl would have dropped him on the spot.

“Then it’s settled!” Sansa exclaimed, clasping her hands together in excitement, “Thanks, Ray.  You’re like family to me now, so I’m happy that you’ll be a part of our Christmas celebration.”

“Don’t forget to bring your elf shoes with you,” Sandor snickered, “Or your reindeer antlers.  The Starks do enjoy dressing for the occasion.”

“Would you stuff it, already?” Sansa huffed in mock annoyance, the grin sneaking across her face giving away her amusement at his analysis.

“Well, if you two lovebirds will excuse me, I need to take my pies out of the oven,” Ray smiled, stepping back toward the kitchen, “Make yourselves at home as long as you want.  I’ll be out in a few.”

As Ray exited, Sandor felt his heart rate rapidly increase.  His diabolical plan for this Christmas Eve, which he had been plotting for months now, was coming together so perfectly well that he feared that at any minute, his captain would call him into the station for some emergency situation.

In the year since meeting Sansa, Sandor’s outlook on life and love had dramatically changed.  Vowing to take things slowly, the two friends stayed in touch almost daily through texts and phone calls, often staying up terribly late just to have a few stolen moments to communicate in between his crazy hours and her twelve-hour shifts as a nurse at Lionsview Hospital over in Casterly Rock.

Thankfully, their respective residences were only 30 minutes away, so they fell into a comfortable routine, spending at least one evening during the week together for dinner and a movie and then hanging out together on the weekends when neither had to work.

Joffrey, it turned out, was not willing to let Sansa go without trying to woo her back into his good graces.  First, he had tried calling her relentlessly, but refusing to speak to him, she had ignored all of his messages.  Next, he tried sending flowers to her apartment and then to the hospital, yet she simply decorated the patients’ rooms for them with the over-sized bouquets.

Finally, one Friday evening while preparing dinner, Sansa and Sandor heard Joffrey yelling at her from outside her apartment door, demanding that she open up and let him in to talk to her.  When Sandor jerked open the front door instead, sneering down at the much smaller young man, the look of fright that overtook Joffrey’s face as he stared up at the enormous, long-haired detective was absolutely priceless.  His hateful glare posing a serious enough threat, Sandor didn’t have to utter one single word before Joffrey silently backed up, quickly turning on his heels, running to his expensive little sports car and speeding away into obscurity.

And it was that same night, barely two months into their fledgling friendship, that Sansa finally had had enough of taking things slowly, pouncing on Sandor only seconds after he had slammed the door as Joffrey fled in terror.  The feeling of her lips and hands all over his body as they made love for the first time was a memory that Sandor knew he would remember daily for the rest of his life.

After that night spent together, they became an official couple.  Her parents were supportive, Ray was supportive, and in fact, Sandor was hard-pressed to think of anyone other than someone with the last name Baratheon that wasn’t supportive of their romance.  Hell, Bronn had almost cried he was so happy to find out that Sandor had finally gotten the balls to move forward with Sansa.

Within another couple of months, Sansa, who had found a nursing job at Dr. Davos’s office in downtown Westeros, was packing her belongings and relocating to be closer to Sandor and to her family.  While searching for a place of her own, Sansa stayed with him at his apartment, and as the weeks turned into months, it was plain to those around them that neither Sandor nor Sansa truly wanted her to find one.  Fearing that Ned or Robb might murder him in his sleep, Sandor had never felt so sheepish as he did the first time he had visited the Stark household after Sansa had started living with him.  Thankfully, his fears were unfounded as not one member of her family had anything negative to say about their living arrangements.

Actually, Arya had plenty to say about their living arrangements, although most of her commentary only served to make Sansa blush.

Fast-forward to the present, and Sandor was looking at his watch.  It was time.

“So, I suppose we should be off, then,” he said as he rose from his seat on the stool, offering Sansa his hand.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she smiled up at him, taking his hand and standing beside him.  As she moved to grab her dress coat, Sandor reached forward, grasping her upper arm in his massive hand.

“Wait,” he all but whispered, his nerves seizing up momentarily as he smiled lovingly into her eyes, "I forgot something.”

“Forgot what?” Sansa replied, a puzzled expression on her beautiful face.

Silently Sandor took her dress coat from her hands, draping it across its previous location on the empty stool beside Sansa’s seat.  He wrapped his hand around hers, gently tugging as he walked backwards toward the front door of the diner.

“What are you doing?” Sansa smirked, one ginger eyebrow cocked in question.

“This,” he replied, pulling her into his arms, nodding his head toward the small tuft of greenery dangling down from the doorframe just inches above him.

“Mistletoe,” she said, smiling widely as her eyes looked up to see the sprig.

“And I don’t have to tell you what that’s for, do I?” Sandor asked as he lowered his lips to meet hers.  He could taste the sweet whipped cream and tart lemon flavors from her slice of Ray’s lemon pie, just as he did this same night one year ago.

“Mm, that was nice,” she purred as he pulled back.  “Although this kiss involved a whole lot more tongue than last year.”

“Are you complaining?” he laughed.

“Nope,” Sansa giggled, placing her well-manicured hands on his massive chest, “Not one bit.”

_It’s now or never, Clegane.  Get on with it._

“Sansa,” he began tentatively, “Before we drive up to your parents’ house, there’s something I want to ask you.”  He could feel his pulse increasing rapidly as she continued smiling at him.

“OK,” she said as she tilted her head to the side, her copper tresses cascading across her face slightly.

Without another word, Sandor lowered himself to one knee, taking her hands in his.

“Sandor?” Sansa asked, her eyes widening at the sight of her enormous boyfriend kneeling before her.

“When you walked into this diner last year,” he continued, staring into her crystal blue eyes now blinking back tears of joy, “I could never have imagined how much my life would change that night.  You’re my best friend…and I love you more than you will ever know.”

As he released his grip to shove his hand into his coat pocket, Sandor took a deep breath when he pulled out the small, velvet box he had been hiding in the bottom of his underwear drawer for six months.

“Oh, God,” she squeaked, her one free hand now clasped against her mouth.

“Will you marry me?” Sandor asked quietly as he showed her the ring that Ray had helped him pick out ages ago, silently praying to himself that he would forever remember how beautiful Sansa looked at this moment.

“Yes!” she answered forcefully, the tears now flowing freely, “Yes, I’ll marry you, Sandor Clegane!”

Taking the ring from its plush enclosure, he could feel his hand shake slightly as he slipped it onto her finger, rising from his spot on the floor, smiling like a complete fool.  “You didn’t have to think too hard before you answered,” Sandor chuckled as he watched her staring in awe at her left hand, “Are you sure?”

Laughing deeply while sniffling, Sansa stood on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, “Kiss me again, and I’ll show you how sure I am.”

As they broke their passionate kiss, Sandor caught sight of Ray peeking out from the kitchen, holding his thumbs up, tacitly praising Sandor for his proposal that he had rehearsed in front of Ray just yesterday.

“You know, detective, I’ll be around for a whole week,” Sansa said breathlessly, her words harkening back to the moment after their first kiss last Christmas Eve while standing under the same patch of mistletoe, “Any chance I could see you again?”

Just as it did last year, the moment seemed completely surreal.  “Yes, little bird,” Sandor replied, his tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip, “I’d say that there is definitely a chance of that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have followed Sandor and Sansa through their journey in this story. I truly have appreciated all of your kind words and support! It is my hope that you will enjoy my other past, present, and future works just as much!


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